


Carpe Diem

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-20
Updated: 2008-04-20
Packaged: 2019-01-19 14:31:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12412116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: It's three years after the war, and Neville Longbottom, much to the disappointment of his family and friends still hasn't found a girl. Maybe, just maybe, it's all because of that kiss with Luna Lovegood, and maybe, just maybe, Hannah Abbott can help change that. [neville x hannah, novella]





	Carpe Diem

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

** Chapter 1 **

**Awkward Questions**

“So, Neville, any girls on the horizon?” Uncle Alfie’s question wasn’t actually a question; it was just yet another chance to chide Neville on his lack of romantic conquests.

Frantically, Neville glanced around the lush garden, a testament to hours of hard work and a need for distraction.

“No,” he mutters. “I will when -”

“When the time is right. Gosh boy, we know. It’s been three blasted years since that war – yes, Augusta, I know your boy killed that dratted snake, you don’t have to tell me again -” Uncle Alfie’s eyes glinted, tarnished with a mixture of irritation and despair at Neville’s plight, making him rather intimidating “- and you need to get yourself a girl.” Neville bit back a retort, knowing that his uncle hadn’t fought, hadn’t been caught up in the emotional turmoil of happiness and death that had smothered them all that day. Uncle Alfie gave him what was obviously supposed to be an encouraging pat on the back, before disappearing into the throng of people that mingled in the garden.

 

“He’s right, you know.”

“Yes, Gran,” Neville sighed, brushing his fringe from his pale brown eyes as he prepared to avoid sleeping through yet another lecture on the fact that life goes on. Augusta Longbottom was awfully proud of her grandson – and the fact that he single handedly defeated a snake, whose death resulted in the downfall of He Who Must Not Be Named Himself (Neville found it silly that they couldn’t refer to him as Lord Voldemort all these years after his highly celebrated end) – but Neville still found it best to tread lightly around her.

“Whatever happened to that girl?” Augusta asked, her deep blue eyes wide with curiosity. “The one you were talking to after the … the battle? The one whose father provides the compost for my garden with that hideous paper of his?”

“Luna?” Neville repeated her name a few times, rolling it on his tongue, sucking the sweetness out like one might suck the flesh from a particularly succulent fruit.

 

What had happened to Luna, exactly? The obvious answer lingered at the front of Neville’s mind, throbbing like it had a heart of its very own: she’d grown up. The more tangible, more real answer went deeper than that, much deeper than Neville’s explanation for his grandmother.

 

“We just … just went our separate ways. No biggie.” Neville shrugged, hoping like crazy that his candid phrasing convinced his grandmother that it definitely wasn’t a big deal, because really, it wasn’t. Just because she’d gone off and married that Rolf guy, the one with all the butterfly nets, there was no reason he couldn’t still have feelings for her, was there? That sort of thing happened in those trashy romance novels Lavender Brown had littered the now destroyed Gryffindor common room with all the time (not that Neville would ever admit to picking one up and glancing through it, of course).

“What about that other girl? The one with the bushy hair we saw at St Mungos that Christmas?” It’s been five years, and Neville still wonders how his grandmother can talk about that day with such freedom, when it was so … so _embarrassing._

Neville couldn’t help but groan as he visualised Hermione in a wedding dress, him by her side. She was a nice enough girl, and he was definitely forever indebted to her for all the help in potions, but that hair, it was indescribable.

“She’s dating Ron Weasley, you know the redhead Gran, the one who came up to after the war and told you that those food packages you sent me in first and second year were simply delightful.”

Augusta let out a snort, her nostrils flaring dramatically as she surveyed all five foot four, blue eyed, brown haired grandson. “Such a shame,” she said. “You would have been quite the perfect match for her, just like the Ronald boy’s little sister is for Harry Potter.” A wistful smile crossed her face as she shut her eyes, and Neville wondered if she was imagining, just for a second, sitting in the front row of Harry’s upcoming wedding, a sob wreck, instead of convincing Neville that he needed to get out more, because he was never going to be able to marry his daffodils.

Her eyes snapped open after a minute or two, and she said, “Did you happen to catch this week’s _Witch Weekly_ article on them, Neville?”

Neville nodded, slightly. “Yes, and Harry’s invitation arrived the other day; his owl accidentally dropped it on Trevor’s head.”

“Wasn’t Ginevra just glowing in that dress? Bit low cut for my liking, though …” From the focused look in her eyes, and the way her hands began to wave about her face, like kites spiraling out of control, Neville could tell she would talk for hours.

Hastily glancing at his watch, Neville muttered, “Look Gran, I’ve got to go.”

“But it’s a family -”

“I know Gran, but I promised Shacklebolt I’d come into work for a few hours. Willy Wildershins and Mundungus ‘ve been busted growing some sort of illegal Muggle plant, and I told him I’d check it out, do some tests, that sort of thing.” It wasn’t strictly a lie; Neville had promised Kingsley that he would complete the tests this afternoon, but he didn’t actually need to be at the Ministry for another few hours.

And, as Neville scurried off, darting around the edge of the crowd – it wasn’t hard, half of his cousins were drunk and rowdy, creating an ocean of moving people that ebbed back and forth like the tide – to avoid his grandmother’s probing eyes, buried beneath layers of wrinkly, sagging skin, he realised that maybe, they were right. He just didn’t want to admit to it.

 

**\---**

You’re being irrational, Neville chided himself that night, as he sat, buried among a mountain of plant samples and paperwork. His stomach rumbled incessantly, reminding him that, in future, he should probably remember to eat, no matter how much he wanted to avoid a party.

 

Because, really, he was being irrational. They’d shared that one kiss, and really, it wasn’t even much of a passionate affair, what with all the fumbling and her sloppy wet tongue. She was Luna, and he was Neville, and it was nothing more than a single moment of jubilation after so many months of uncertainty and tragedy.

 

Neville hunched over his report, quickly scribbling a few notes on Muggle plants that he’d heard of before in the margins. His quill made an irritating scratching noise as it slid across the paper, recording something that didn’t even register in his mind. If he was Harry or Ron, he would have laughed at all this insanity, because she was nothing more than ‘Loony’ Lovegood, Crumple Horned Snorcack hunter and owner of many stolen socks. But Neville Longbottom was Neville Longbottom, no-one else, and she meant an awful lot to him.

 

“Alright there, Longbottom?” Kingsley’s harsh tone relieved Neville from his thought induced stupor. Neville nodded hastily, waving his almost blank piece of parchment in front of his boss’ face and forcing what he hoped was more of a smile than a grimace on to his face.

“Of course. Just a little tiring, knowing that there’s still so much devastation in the world, and good ol’ Willy Wildershins has to go and start stuff like this.”

It was Kingsley’s turn to nod now; his once taut face now marred with the stress of a war and work bobbing gently up and down. “And all anyone in the department can talk about is Harry Potter’s upcoming wedding. They just all have to follow in his footsteps, don’t they? The amount of people requesting time off for weddings at the moment is atrocious.”

“Really?” Neville’s voice was more that of concerned employee than interested participant in the conversation.

“Sadly,” Kingsley said, smiling down at Neville, who was once again engrossed in identifying the substance that oozed across the table from one of Willy Wildershins suspicious plants. “So, you got yourself a girl?”

Neville gritted his teeth as he answered. “No.”

Just because he was shy little Neville Longbottom, did that mean everyone had to pick on him? No, he bloody well did not have a girl, and he was quiet happy, okay. Was there a problem with that?

 

Kingsley answered Neville’s question with one of his own, deep brown eyes wide with curiosity as he perched himself on the edge of Neville’s workbench, loosening his tie as he did so. “Why not? You’re smart, funny, and everyone knows about what you did in the Battle of Hogwarts.”

The rational answer was simply, _I haven’t found anyone yet,_ but in Neville’s mind, that translated to _I’m a complete social idiot and you should lock me up._ Self appreciation (and how to make a potion without exploding a cauldron), was one of the few things Hogwarts, for all its reputation and glory, had failed to teach him.

Instead, he just mumbled, “I don’t know.”

The minister leaned over and patted Neville on the shoulder, leaving him to feel more awkward than ever. “You’ll find her, mate. People like you always do.”

 

_People like you?_ What was that supposed to mean? That he could still find himself a wife despite the fact that he’d eaten a few too many steak and kidney pies over the years and didn’t have a scar in the shape of a lightning bolt on his forehead?

“Thanks Kingsley.” Neville tried hard not to laugh as he thought of the irony of it all. He, Ginny and Luna had fought the Carrows without even a thought for self-preservation; they’d jumped straight into the fray and charged the enemy, wearing whatever battle scars they’d gained with pride and a sense of power. Now, he couldn’t even tell the Minister for Magic that he was happy not to be married.

 

“Whatever happened to that Luna girl?” Neville groaned, wondering if that stupid Muggle thing called karma had caught up to him and was punishing him for his treatment of Nagini. “I would have liked her to work for us. Very intelligent, that one …”

“She’s a naturalist these days, in Australia? Apparently Crumple Horned Snorcacks are a lot more common over there.” Neville threw his shoulders up into the air, they scraped against his chin; the thick cotton of his t-shirt was coarse against his skin.

His heart thudded in his chest, Neville was afraid it was going to burst out and break his ribcage, shattering not only his bones but his life. He wouldn’t exactly call this an unrequited love affair, because there was no sobbing involved, and definitely no Romeo and Juliet style fanfare, there was just a round face boy with an affinity for Herbology, and an ethereal, dreamy girl who was half a world and a long flight away with her _husband._

“Oh, that’s a shame. I really liked meeting her after … after it was all over.” Neville grinned weakly at Kingsley, his true feelings lingering somewhere in the air with the peals of steam that wafted from his steaming hot coffee. He took a sip, preparing for the searing pain as the liquid carved a path down his throat, but he felt nothing.

 

If he didn’t know any better, he would have called this insanity, but he knew _exactly_ what insanity was, and it certainly wasn’t this.

 

This … this was regret. Regret that he’d thought so much of that one kiss, inspired by nothing more than the beauty of a setting sun and euphoria at the end of a war that had tortured them both. Regret that he’d let her go, allowed her to run off and marry that Rolf guy, when they had no emotional battle scars to share.

 

“Yeah.” It was the only useful word to escape Neville’s mouth, as a torrent of words became trapped in his throat, choking him. “I’d better get back to work Kingsley,” he muttered, gesturing at the piles of plants and paperwork that surrounded him.

“Sure. Thanks for this Neville; I just wanted you to know that I’m thankful for the help.”

“You’re welcome.” There was a lot more that Neville wanted to say, but this was the Minister for Magic, and Neville doubted that antagonising him was a good idea. “I’d better get going.”

 

And, as Neville gripped his wand tightly at grimaced at the familiar soul sucking feeling caused by Apparation, he couldn’t remove Luna Lovegood’s face from his mind.

  **\------------------------------**

**Hey guys, and welcome to my new Neville/Hannah chapter fic. ;) Hopefully you all like it, and feel free to leave a comment.**

**Much love,**

_Cuba ...x_


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